by Kitty Thomas
It was maybe a mile walk into the main part of town—twenty minutes or so. Or it was that far into what had been the original downtown area at least. I wasn’t sure how much urban sprawl had overtaken the edges.
There was a small old-fashioned grocery store on the corner of a strip of buildings that looked like they’d been built maybe around the mid-eighteen hundreds. Next to that were several boutique stores that ranged in offerings from tourist-y gift shops to clothing stores.
I wondered what would ever possess Shannon to live in such a small town. Small towns were nosy. Everybody wanted to know everybody’s business. And if you weren’t involved enough in town stuff, people always wanted to know why. I would think Shannon would prefer to get lost inside a big city.
“Hello,” a woman said from behind the register inside one of the boutique stores. Her name tag read, June. “Can I help you find something?”
“I’m just looking, thanks.”
June had short pixie-cut graying hair that fringed delicately around her face, and reading glasses perched on her nose. The glasses were on a chain so she could wear them around her neck when she didn’t need them. She was dressed smartly in a black leather skirt that ended mid-calf, covering the tops of chic black boots. A somewhat fitted black top completed the look, accentuating the gentle curves on her slender frame. She had this freaky sort of old-lady/young hipster combo going on that made it impossible to tell if she was twenty or two hundred.
Sure, I’d met Shannon’s parents, but it was so weird being anywhere without Shannon or Trevor and being around strangers. This was my first unsupervised visit anywhere since the car wreck. And it made me want to climb out of my skin.
I know I’d decided I wanted to be with Shannon, and it seemed nothing could drag me from that determination, but it was unsettling being in this little boutique shop outside of Shannon’s direct grasp and not asking for help. Like, if I were a sane or rational person, shouldn’t I realistically ask this woman to call 911 for me? Shouldn’t I make some token effort? But even with how our relationship had shifted, I had a hard time realistically seeing my life with Shannon as imprisonment—despite the extremely limited times I’d been allowed to venture outdoors.
So instead of doing something rational, I wandered toward the back of the store to the lingerie section. I didn’t even know if Shannon still wanted me, and yet the first thing I did as a supposedly free woman, was shop for lingerie for him. Well, for me... but you know... for him.
The sales lady by this point had migrated back to the lingerie area as well. If I were a teenager in a baggy overcoat, I’d assume she was shadowing me for fear of shoplifting. But I was pretty sure it was more general nosiness. This suspicion was confirmed a moment later.
“Are you new to the area, or just visiting?” June asked.
I was tempted to insist I was just visiting, but instead I said, “New.”
“Oh? Do you know anyone here?”
“Shannon Mercer.” I had a momentary fear that he might murder me for bringing his name up, but hey, he chose a small town to live in. And frankly, if he was going to end up killing me, I wanted him to have to work up an explanation about my disappearance and sweat a little over it.
“Ooooooh,” she said. I swear, I thought she was going to start singing the kissing in a tree song like a grade school child. She got a sort of blushy dreamy look on her face. “He is so beautiful.”
In spite of everything, I found the grin inching up the side of my face, followed by a nervous giggle. “Yeah. He is pretty hot.”
“You did good, honey.”
I was pretty sure she wouldn’t maintain that position if she had more facts about Shannon. This made me wildly curious about what she thought Shannon did for a living.
“And he’s such a good man,” she continued. “But I don’t have to tell you. I guess you’ll be going on the trips with him?”
“Ummm, yeah, the trips. Sure.” I had no idea what this lady was talking about, but I was fascinated to know more about the saintly portrait Shannon had painted of himself.
“I think it’s just so lovely that he donates so much of his time to helping all those poor people in those destitute countries.”
Oh, dear lord. It took all my powers of self-control not to bust out laughing at the deranged idea of Shannon doing extended charity work like some black-clad special ops Mother Theresa.
The sales lady sized me up and then handed me a sexy little black lace number. The lace was elegant and made me think of something a Victorian-era courtesan might wear. “He’ll like this,” June insisted.
I checked the size. It was my size, all right. She had a good eye. “I’ll take it.”
“You don’t want to try it on to make sure?”
“No, I’m sure.” I kind of needed to get away from her. This lady had a crush on Shannon and thought he did charity work. If only she knew. I would never do it, of course, but there was this sadistic part of me that wanted to tell her the truth about him. Just to watch the color drain out of her face.
I frowned, realizing the dark road my thoughts had turned down.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“Oh, no. I was just thinking about something else.”
“Now, I’ve got all sorts of fun and interesting toys and edible body paints and...”
“No, the lingerie is fine.”
“Is it for Valentine’s Day? That’s right around the corner, you know. We have some cards at the register if you want to pick one out.”
“That’s okay, I’ve already got a card.” I couldn’t imagine ever giving Shannon a card for any reason. I was tempted to ask “how right around the corner” Valentine’s Day was. But at least now I had a better idea of what month we were in.
June took the lingerie to the register and rang it up. She quirked a brow briefly at my shopping with cash, but it was probably just more nosiness. With a card she could learn my name. Without one, I was still a mystery. I was surprised she hadn’t just gone ahead and asked. Maybe I should have offered a name. I wasn’t sure about the small town meet-and-greet protocol.
She carefully wrapped the lingerie in tissue paper and put it in an elegant black paper bag with shiny silver accents. Then she added some additional gray tissue paper in the top, tied the handles together with some curling ribbon, and handed it to me like it was the holy grail.
“Have fun,” she said, winking at me.
I looked at my receipt. The date was February third. Okay then, another piece of the what the hell is happening in the real world puzzle solved.
I stopped in a few other shops on the block and got some apple cinnamon bubble bath which I felt tempted to just go ahead and eat instead of bathe in—it smelled that real. Then I grabbed a few fashion magazines and some stationery and a roll of stamps and some fat white candles.
Finally, I stopped at the corner grocery and got a few snacks I missed now that I remembered I liked them... like kettle corn drizzled in dark chocolate and a bottle of Merlot.
Since I didn’t have a car, I stopped buying things at this point. I still had to carry it all back.
It was tricky figuring how to get everything back up into the house since I couldn’t use the front door. The security system was like an extra lock. If you didn’t know the code, it didn’t matter whether you had a key or not. It wouldn’t just sound an alarm, the door or window wouldn’t even open. The balcony door was therefore the only door I could still get into.
I ended up having to throw the bags one at a time onto the balcony from the ground. Except the Merlot, which I carried up. I was glad there were some trees around the house and that Shannon’s nearest neighbor was more than a block down the road. I didn’t need anyone asking why I was tossing stuff up onto a balcony, or climbing the trellis to get inside the house. I looked like a really inefficient cat burglar. And even from my perspective—knowing the back story—the whole thing seemed absurd.
Once inside, I still felt antsy. The freedom o
f finally being able to come and go in a civilized world was not lost on me. I grabbed some more money from the drawer and after a quick lunch, I went out the balcony and climbed down the trellis.
This time I went into a florist shop a block over from where I’d been earlier. As soon as I stepped inside, I knew this was what I’d craved. Plants. Living green things. Shannon didn’t have a single plant in his house. Given my history with the study of them as well as being surrounded by greenery constantly in the abandoned park, it was almost distressing not having any of my own. They changed the energy of a space, making it more alive than it might otherwise be. It was the kind of thing you didn’t notice unless you were used to it and then suddenly it was gone.
In the company of so many options, I went a little crazy, buying up almost everything in the front part of the store. I was, however, careful to only buy plants that were non-toxic to cats. There may be no love lost between me and the white cat, but if I killed her, Shannon would be livid.
“No flowers?” the old florist asked, disappointed. “I haven’t gotten to make a fresh arrangement since Tuesday.” His name tag read, “Stanley.”
“I’m sorry, not today.” I made a mental note to come back for flowers at another time, assuming Shannon was just testing me and not trying to get rid of me. “Can I get these delivered?”
The old man pulled out a large sales pad. “Address, please?”
I gave him the address, and immediately a large smile broke out over his face. “You’re Shannon’s girl. June told us about the mysterious new girlfriend. Finally domesticating him, are you?”
I just smiled.
“I can have these out on the van to you in about an hour. Will that be okay?”
“That would be great. Thanks. I’ll probably still be out and about, so could you just leave them on the front porch, and I’ll bring them inside when I get home?”
“Certainly, Ma’am.”
I paid him in cash, to a raised eyebrow similar to June’s. He didn’t ask personal questions of me, but I was almost sure he realized he didn’t even know my name as I made my escape from the building.
I went straight back to Shannon’s after that. When I got inside, I poured a glass of wine and ran a bubble bath in the master bathroom and lit a few candles and soaked and read. I stared at the stationery and stamps still in one of the bags on the bathroom floor. When I’d bought it, I’d planned to send Professor Stevens an anonymous threatening letter. I wasn’t sure if he’d even know who it was from.
I really just wanted him to fear it might be from me, that I was coming for him. But I was afraid that the postmark would just lead back to Shannon.
I heard the old white van with the plants pull up. I waited until they were unloaded and I was sure Stanley was gone before I went outside. Getting the plants inside was even trickier than the rest of my purchases had been. Thankfully, I hadn’t bought any really big plants. I could just imagine Shannon’s irritation if I broke my neck falling off the trellis with these.
When they were finally inside, I went about the house, finding a window for each of the bright light plants. I’d bought a few low light plants for the coffee table and some end tables that had nothing on them. I wasn’t sure I wanted to imagine Shannon’s reaction to all this when he got home. I imagined he’d lived in this cold, minimal, antiseptic house with the white cat as his only other living companion for so long, that bringing this much life into the house might not go over well. They might clash with his energy. Plants were quiet at least. Surely they could find some common ground with Shannon there.
I needed to be surrounded by green things if I wanted to not lose my mind. And with the trees bare of leaves and everything so bleak and gray all the time, this was a necessary evil. I couldn’t stay by myself in a house where the only other living being hated me. I needed something friendly.
Chapter Nine
Without Shannon in the house, the nightmares came back even darker and more detailed than before. This time, I couldn’t will myself awake in time. I had to relive the whole fucked-up thing. Somehow the worst of it wasn’t the too-hard whipping that exceeded anything I’d previously experienced. The worst part of the memory/dream was his voice and the awful words he said, blaming me over and over again for what he was doing as he made sure I knew what a filthy, disgusting little whore I was. Without that, I might have been able to pretend it was someone else, anyone else.
I jolted awake and scrambled to sit up. It was too quiet in the house without Shannon, and I knew the white cat wouldn’t comfort me. She hated me. That feeling was mutual.
I’d moved all my bags from my shopping excursion into the bedroom except the snacks, which were in the kitchen. I turned on every light in the house as I made my way there now.
I opened the dark chocolate drizzled kettle corn and took a bottle of water from the fridge and sat at the kitchen table with it. Shannon might kill me if he ever found out I’d been drinking red wine in the tub. I wasn’t even sure candles were allowed because wax could drip. I was pretty sure the coffee and toast in bed kindness had been a one-time thing. After my snack, I finished up the bottle of wine from earlier.
On a lark, and pleasantly buzzed, I checked Shannon’s office door. I couldn’t believe it when the knob turned easily in my hand. He never left this room unlocked. Even when he was home. It wasn’t as if there were any remaining doubts that he was trying to get me to leave, but why the fuck would he leave his office accessible?
Of course, inside the office itself, pretty much every drawer and filing cabinet, as well as the closet were locked. The only thing that wasn’t locked down was his laptop on top of the desk. I booted it up. There was a split screen, one was a login for Shannon, and I was sure I’d never crack that password. But next to it was another login for “guest”. That must be me. But what was the password?
If he’d really set up a login for me it would have to be a really simple password I could easily guess like my name or admin or... I typed in password. The screen changed, and I was in my own desktop and internet connection.
It was yet another link to the outside world. Another window of escape I was just going to go ahead and ignore, self-preservation be damned. Maybe it was the effects of the Merlot, but I knew exactly what I wanted to do online and it wasn’t ask for help.
I typed in my old university’s web address. The screen loaded surprisingly quickly. I scanned around the site in the faculty section. Exactly what I thought. Professor Stevens was still there. Fucking tenure. Probably still assaulting students and getting away with it right under everybody’s nose. I could send him an email. But I didn’t know enough about computer security. It might be traced somehow back to Shannon. I was sure he had to have some really beefy internet security, otherwise there was no way he’d give me access to an internet connection at all, but still.
Besides, email didn’t have the satisfying physicality of a real paper letter.
I went back upstairs and got the stationery and the magazines I’d bought earlier and brought them down, trying to will my hands not to shake. But the adrenaline was surging full throttle now, and I couldn’t get the tremors to stop. I took several deep breaths and then went to the sink and splashed some cool water on my face. After several minutes, I felt myself begin to relax as my body realized I was in Shannon’s house. Safe.
When I felt calm enough, I put on some gloves from under the kitchen sink and found a glue stick and some scissors in a drawer in the kitchen. I began cutting out letters from the magazines and gluing them onto the stationery.
It took about an hour, but when I was finished, it said: “You must have been relieved when you thought I was gone for good. Watch your back. This isn’t over, fucker.”
I folded the crude note, put it in the envelope, sealed it, addressed it, stamped it. I didn’t put a return address on it, but I was back to the trouble of the post mark. If I were in Savannah, it might not be as big of a deal, but I knew I couldn’t mail it from Stoney Oa
k, though I really wanted to.
I was tempted to get dressed again, sneak out, and walk back to town. I was sure there would be a mail drop off box somewhere outside one of the stores, maybe outside the courthouse a couple blocks over from where I’d been shopping earlier. But Shannon would kill me. Besides, what was I going to do besides mail a stupid, pointless letter? I was afraid to even ask Shannon to kill him for me, not just because it was crossing a line on a whole other level I didn’t know if I could cope with morally, but because I was afraid he would say no.
So maybe my problem with it wasn’t morals at all. Especially now with my memory back, knowing how Trevor had died safe in the knowledge that I was mourning him. I just didn’t think I could let someone else get away with hurting me like that. And yet, so far, Professor Stevens had. He’d gone on with his life in his cushy little tenured teaching position, smug in the knowledge he’d gotten away with it.
I wasn’t sure if what I wanted was justice or garden-variety vengeance, and I didn’t really care. Whatever it was, I wanted it so much I could taste it. It tasted vaguely like apple cinnamon bubble bath.
I ended up ripping up the carefully constructed anonymous threat and throwing it in the trash. I was careful that no part of the address or name was visible or could be reconstructed. Shannon was rubbing off on me. I cleaned up the mess in the kitchen and went back to bed.
***
Every night without Shannon, the dreams came, each time more awful than the night before. I was sure that if he were here—if I were in his bed—the nightmares wouldn’t have the nerve to disturb my sleep.
On Sunday morning, Shannon returned.
“Elodie?”
I could tell by the sound of his voice that he wasn’t sure if I was there. Though surely he couldn’t think I would fill his house with plants and then run away.
I practically flew down the stairs to meet him even though I was afraid to see that deadness in his eyes that I was sure he reserved for most everyone else.
